


Frozen Heart

by Snekki_Boi



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst and Feels, Love Confessions, M/M, just expect a lot of pain, suicide attempt kinda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-06
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-11-24 17:36:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20911484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snekki_Boi/pseuds/Snekki_Boi
Summary: Aziraphale was afraid of losing Crowley. And he was willing to do anything to keep him safe.





	1. Chapter 1

A winter blizzard caught Soho unexpected. The frost settled quick over windows and streetlamps. The roads were paved in ice and snow. Any sane person would bar themselves indoors and live under five blankets until the weather turned warmer. But at the bridge just off of Soho, an angel stood in the storm. He shivered from the cold, as if it were a mere breeze, and carried on staring into the frozen lake. His grey eyes seemed oblivious to what was happening in the world. He was far, far lost in thought. But then he sighed, breath fogging heavy against the lashing winds, and jumped. 

His body cracked the ice and breached its cold like a stone cast into the sea. He sank, body shocked and instantly overtaken by hypothermia. 

Aziraphale sobbed into the water as his mind began to muddle. Somewhere, in the very back, laid his celestial conscious that had the calm and strong rush of a waterfall of memories. The Ritz, St. James's Park, the Dowling Estate, Mesopotamia, Rome, Golgotha, France. They were fading around the edges, fuzzy like static on the telly. He was going to discorporate himself with these memories as a last thought. 

* * *

A Month Earlier 

"Sorry, what?" Crowley blinked at him blankly, drink sloshing haphazardly in his hand. The warm bookshop was making his face flush. 

"I sai- I said! I said, they were kissing!" Aziraphale sputtered indignantly before taking another sip of the fine whiskey. "In the back!" he continued. "When I wasn't seeing!" 

Crowley laughed, which sounded like rich chocolate and the first bite into a soft pastry to Aziraphale. "Kisssssing? Why weren't you seeing? Should've told them off." 

"I did! I told them, 'Out of my shop! This isn't an amusement park!' Who knows what else they could've done if I didn't realize!" 

The thought seemed to interest Crowley, coaxing a mischievous look to his face. The demon downed his glass and poured more into it, spilling some in the process. He stared at his drink for a long time, losing himself to thoughts. His golden eyes had consumed all the whites. Aziraphale wanted to lean in closer, wanted to stare into his eyes at a closer proximity, wanted to see what the golds and slits would look like after opening from a breathless kiss. 

Crowley leaned back, failing to prop his feet up twice. He gave up on the third try. "Seems like fun. Daring, really. Fucking in public." 

Aziraphale scoffed. He tried to, anyway. "Well, they'll have to find some other bookshop to filthy." 

"I'm tired, angel." Crowley stood suddenly, swaying slightly. "Gonna go to bed. Want to join?" 

"You're staying over again?" Aziraphale slowed his heart rate, fearing that Crowley might hear if it beat too loud. 

"D'you not want me to? I can-" 

"Oh, no! No, no. It's perfectly alright. Just go on up. I'll join you shortly." 

"Mmmnnggg," was Crowley's response as he stumbled his way to the hidden bedroom. 

Aziraphale sighed deeply, clearing his system of alcohol and rolling his shoulders as his mind readjusted to being sober so abruptly. He stayed sitting, leaning back to relax himself as he rolled the familiar feeling of fluttering love in his chest. He repeated it to himself like a mantra: "I love Crowley. I love Crowley. I love Crowley." It made him blush in embarrassment, as though someone might hear. But he was free. The apocalypse was stopped, even if just for another six thousand years. And, he decided, it was finally time to say what was so obvious in between the spaces of the past six thousand years. 

In the morning, when Crowley wakes next to Aziraphale, he would ask him to breakfast (or lunch, if he slept in late). Then over dessert, Aziraphale would tell him everything. And, if he read his demonic friend right, Crowley would reciprocate his feelings gladly, calling him stupid for waiting so long and not noticing sooner. Aziraphale sighed happily at the thought, shooing away the doubts that took root from the plan. He wanted to dwell in the emotions longer, steep himself in the fantasy. But Crowley was waiting. His heart gave a nervous stutter as he stood. 

A strong presence made Aziraphale freeze. There was a clap in the air pressure, and suddenly, Gabriel was standing behind him. Aziraphale turned quickly, giving his best efforts to smile politely at him. 

"I thought we agreed it best that you don't seek me out," Aziraphale said cautiously. 

"I'm aware of what we agreed on." Gabriel forced himself to smile, brightening his tone. "And I am also aware of the third party in this little shop of yours." 

Aziraphale's mind bristled, but he maintained a calm demeanor. "I don't think it's a concern of yours with whom we both choose to call our friend." 

"No, I suppose not." The archangel's eyes seemed to glitter, smile never faltering. "I don't really care who you two call your friend anyways. But there's just something that's been on my mind lately." 

Dread gripped at Aziraphale's mind with icy fingers, stiffening his body. He took a step back when Gabriel took a step forward. They did it again, almost uniform as if they coordinated it. But then Aziraphale was backed into a bookshelf with Gabriel way too close for comfort. 

"You see, Michael did say the demon Crowley survived holy water, but we both know Heaven's power extends beyond holy water." Gabriel's smile twisted into a crooked smirk. "I haven't tried personally smiting him yet." 

The dread in Aziraphale turned to a fear that nearly stopped his heart. "I-I doubt that's-" 

Gabriel's palm slammed into the bookshelf, annoyance radiating from his body. He towered over Aziraphale. "It's simple!" he snarled, eyes flaring a wrathful purple. "Stay away from the demon and I might just leave him alone." 

Aziraphale's confidence wavered. "S-smiting? Not very- I-I'm sure there's something-" 

"There isn't anything." Gabriel was too confident. "Think about it, Aziraphale. Think about it carefully." With a snap-like sound, he disappeared. 

Aziraphale stood in the silence, pressing himself back into the bookshelf and forcing himself to remember to breathe. His heart threatened to punch through his rib cage. His mind raced so fast, he couldn't keep up with it. Then he heard the stuttered thumps of footsteps. 

"Angel? I think I heard a noise. Everything alright?" It was Crowley. Thankfully, he still sounded drunk. 

"Everything's fine!" Aziraphale replied, surprising himself with how calm he sounded. He unstuck himself from the shelf. "Sorry, my dear. I... noticed my books were off and thought to reorganize quickly. I'll be up now." 

Crowley made a noise in the back of his throat then went silent. 

Aziraphale stared towards the back where his room was. The bitter feeling finally settled heavily onto his shoulders and into his chest. He recognized it as heartbreak, though not as strong. It bordered onto anxiety and fear. He clenched his jaws and walked to his room, smiling at Crowley that was equal parts natural and forced. Then he got into bed with Crowley and that was that. 

* * *

It was a bright and sunny day, a promise of joy. Aziraphale, however, laid in bed with no sense of it whatsoever. He stared at the ceiling, listening to the light snores of his beloved demon next to him. He wanted to turn and bury his face into Crowley's chest and murmur his love confession into his ear and promise to care for him for all of eternity. But Gabriel stood in the forefront of his mind, eyes cold and cruel as he listed all the things he could do to Crowley - perhaps even worse than smiting him. Aziraphale shuddered. He looked over Crowley's peaceful form to try to relax. It had an opposite effect. Aziraphale felt worse, panicked even. He couldn't lose Crowley. Not when he was right there, finally so close to him, finally offering a chance for them to be intimate. 

Aziraphale shoved his palm to his mouth, muffling the sudden urge to sob. His body trembled with the effort. He stilled, hoping that this would go unnoticed by Crowley. No such luck. 

Crowley groaned and stirred and peeked an eye open. "Angel?" he mumbled, rubbing his eyes. "Everything... alright? Angel? Angel, why are you crying? What's wrong?" 

Aziraphale flinched back, tears now defying all restraints. The floodgates were loose. "I can't! I can't!" 

"Can't what? What's happened? Angel, tell me. Did I do something wrong?" Crowley's expression turned heavy with concern and panic. 

Aziraphale shook his head, sniffling fiercely. He wanted so badly to say it now. It was only three letters: I love you. It choked in his throat and what came out instead was a harsh, "Get out of here!" 

Crowley was shocked now, mouth agape. "Angel?" He looked hurt. 

Aziraphale wanted to scream. How could he be the cause of that look on Crowley's face? Oh, God, he felt so sick. "Please, Crowley. You have to leave." He didn't want Crowley to leave. He wanted Crowley to stay forever and always. He wanted Crowley to sleep in his bed while he read at night so Aziraphale could turn occasionally and admire how tranquil he looked. He wanted Crowley to kiss him and hold him and reassure him that everything was okay. "Go! Leave! Get out of here!" 

Obviously biting his tongue, Crowley quickly slipped out of bed and out the door. He threw a glance back over his shoulder, meeting Aziraphale's gaze with watering eyes, before disappearing past the doorframe. Aziraphale actually sobbed then, falling into his pillows and crying and clawing angrily into the sheets. All at once, everything felt so wrong and so cold. 


	2. Chapter 2

Aziraphale didn't want to get out of bed. Aziraphale didn't want to open the bookshop and deal with the customers. Aziraphale didn't want to do anything anymore, not without Crowley. This was not how the day was supposed to go. It was meant to be exciting and wonderful and nerve-wracking and at least somewhat in the direction of how he planned it. This wasn't it at all. 

But Crowley must be safe. Aziraphale sat up, slumping his shoulders tiredly. There was a fire in his eyes. Crowley had to be safe. If keeping a distance meant Gabriel leaving him alone then that is what he will do. 

"Well," Aziraphale said to no one. "I think a cup of cocoa is in order. 

* * *

Two days. Two days since kicking Crowley out and not even a phone call. Aziraphale felt thoroughly awful, unable to even drink any of his alcohol in fear of being reminded too closely of Crowley. He had closed his shop early, rereading the same paragraph in his book over and over again. Then there was a crack in the air and a presence that made Aziraphale turn miserably away from his book. 

"Gabriel," he greeted blandly. 

He smiled - fake, of course. "I see your shop is short of one presence." 

"I did what you asked of me. Now, leave Crowley alone." 

"You know, Aziraphale, I don't believe you." Gabriel walked up to his desk and snatched the book he was reading from him. He flipped mindlessly through the pages, hard enough to make Aziraphale wince. "You can't just sweep him out your shop and call it a day. He'll come back eventually. No, I need you to completely shut him out." He slammed the book close for emphasis. 

Aziraphale swallowed, mouth suddenly dry. "Shut him out? But... how do I...?" 

"Easy. Just tell him you hate him." 

He stood abruptly. "That's absurd, Gabriel! That would be a blatant lie!" 

"Well," Gabriel said with a dangerously calm tone. "Lying is better than watching your _friend_ die, isn't it? Or is that not what you're afraid of? Are you afraid that I'd do something worse than smiting your friend?" 

Aziraphale nearly tripped over his chair. 

"Because, Aziraphale, I just might. You know how Sandalphon gets with punishing demons. And even I'm not so passionate, though I'm more than capable." 

"Please," Aziraphale found himself murmuring. "Please, don't. He didn't do anything wrong." 

"He Fell. That is more than enough cause to smite him! Especially all the cursing and demonic activity throughout the centuries. He's an adversary. I'm sure Beelzebub wouldn't mind - he'll be happy, in fact, to be rid of him." 

"I'll do it!" Aziraphale's shoulders sagged. "I-I'll... shut him out." 

Gabriel grinned, a prim and perfect smile. "Excellent. You're doing Heaven a favor, Aziraphale. Trust me. And even if you're not associating with Heaven now, you're still an angel, and all angels have some form of responsibility to Heaven, whether they know it or not." 

He didn't reply. 

"I'll see you later, Aziraphale." He disappeared with another snap-like sound. 

* * *

Gabriel didn't exactly specify when he had to lie to Crowley. So Aziraphale just decided that he could eventually say it, or even just find another way around it. He can "shut him out" in a better way. Yes, that sounded nice. Well, as nice as it could be with the situation. 

Aziraphale let another day pass into a week, spending most of his time inside his locked shop. He was almost forgetting his troubles, hoping beyond all helpless hopes that perhaps he could spend the rest of eternity like this, avoiding Crowley. 

But then there was a knock on his door and an all too familiar voice. "Angel? I know you're in there! I can feel you!" Another set of knocks at the door. "Look, whatever I did or said, I'm sorry. I-I brought chocolates! Your favorites from down that little old bakery in the corner with the old lady as the baker. You remember, right, angel? The one... the one we stumbled upon back from Scotland." 

Aziraphale's heart clenched in his chest. "Crowley?" It was weak and meager, but he heard it. 

"Angel! Come on. Let me in. We can talk about it all over a cup of tea or something." 

This was too abrupt, too soon. Aziraphale had no plan, no track to follow through in "shutting him out" gently. But Gabriel's voice was taunting him in his head. The archangel's voice was threatening to kill Crowley, or worse. No. He couldn't let Crowley suffer anymore, not after all that's happened and all they've been through. Aziraphale took a sharp, stuttering breath and imagined it steeled him. It almost worked, but this wasn't a time for almost's. 

"Angel?" 

"Go away, Crowley!" Aziraphale's fingers tightened into fists, whitening his knuckles against the edge of his desk. He could see Crowley faintly through the shutters of his windows and regretted looking instantly. Crowley looked so lost and desperate and guilty. Aziraphale forced himself to close his eyes. "You're... you're a demon! And I'm an angel! I-I... I hate you, Crowley!" 

"What? You can't be serious, Aziraphale!" There was a hint of anger edging into his voice. "I thought we were passed this, the whole angel and demon business! Whatever happened to our side, eh? Did stopping Armageddon and _standing against Heaven and Hell_ mean nothing to you? Was it all a fling? Is that it? You got bored of me now?" 

Aziraphale was stunned. "N-no! Lord, no. Of course it... it wasn't a _fling_." He licked his dry lips, doing little to wet them. 

"Then what?" Crowley paused suddenly, a broken smile twitching at his lips. "Is this some game then? That's it, isn't it? You composed a clever game and you want me to figure it all out! That's it, isn't it, angel?" 

"Please, stop this already, Lord," Aziraphale begged in his mind. Feeling the sickness welling up in his throat, mingling horribly with the fear of losing Crowley in both the literal and metaphorical sense, Aziraphale slammed his energy into Crowley as hard as he was willing. He heard the murmur of crowds and opened his eyes to see Crowley slouched to his knees, back clearly having hit his Bentley. 

"Did you..." Crowley stood up angrily. "Did you just try to smite me?!" 

Aziraphale sucked in another breath and nearly sobbed, "Rid thy presence, thou wicked fiend, and return not to my residence!" 

There was a moment of tense silence as Crowley's demonic essence thickened in the air with wrath and fear, chasing away any curious onlookers. For a moment, Aziraphale was convinced Crowley would storm into his bookshelf with all the powers he had at his disposal. But then he heard Crowley say calmly, "Right. I'll leave. Enjoy eternity all by yourself then." Then his Bentley roared to life, and he was gone. 

Aziraphale buried his head into his hands and cried and cried until he was wailing pitifully, not caring who heard. Perhaps this was his punishment for opposing Heaven. Perhaps this was part of the Plan, or the result of it being violated. Perhaps he deserved it. 


	3. Chapter 3

Aziraphale hadn't opened his shop for two weeks. In fact, he hadn't even stepped out of it for that long. There was an occasional knock at his door from some men of some agency, likely trying to mark the bookshop as a leasing spot, but Aziraphale sent them away with a simple flick of his hand. He didn't even bother to greet them first and try to turn them away. And he knew this was unhealthy. He knew that all the cocoa he had been consuming was practically rotting his soul. He knew it would be better to step outside and simply walk a few blocks over - even if to a bakery or restaurant. But he couldn't bear the thought of entering a restaurant without Crowley. They always drank together at least, even if Crowley wasn't as big of a fan of food as Aziraphale was. 

But he was always there, watching him with a fascination that he hardly saw in Crowley's eyes when watching anything else. And his stomach fluttered to think that, to think Crowley's eyes only ever gleamed like that for him and only him. Then the flutter was replaced by a heavy weight. Aziraphale stared coldly at his book. One of Wilde's tragedies - _Vera; or, The Nihilists_. How ironic. 

"Getting along?" 

Aziraphale jumped at the voice. "Gabriel." 

"Quite the argument you had with the 'wicked fiend.'" 

"At your request," he almost snarled. Aziraphale reeled himself in. "Now, surely, you will leave him alone?" 

"So eager for the safety of a demon." Gabriel took his book again, skimming over the title and a couple of pages. He hummed to himself. 

"He's my friend." 

"Not anymore. You've separated, as you should. And if you continue to stay separated, there won't be any more problems. Isn't that right, Angel of the Eastern Gate?" Gabriel's fingertips sparked and the pages of _The Nihilists_ caught fire. 

Aziraphale stood and cried out in indignation and anger. Gabriel's wings revealed themselves then, expanding to the length of the walls and unfurling imposingly before Aziraphale. His eyes were entirely glowing with heavenly wrath. 

"An archangel is always an eager soldier for the Lord, you know." He let the charred book drop to the floor and crushed its corpse beneath his heel, snuffing the fire. 

Aziraphale's eyes dulled, trapping his fear beneath all the coldness his eyes could muster. He stared mournfully down at his book, anger firing inside him. He let out a heavy breath. "Is that all, Gabriel?" 

He threw Aziraphale back into a shelf, knocking it over. Gabriel rolled his shoulders as his wings curled back into the unseen and stepped over to the angel and his scattered books and papers. "It would be best for all of us for you to remember your place, Principality Aziraphale." 

Swallowing fearfully, Aziraphale nodded. 

"Good." Gabriel flashed a kind smile before disappearing. 

Aziraphale laid silently in the pile of books and broken wood. His head thrummed with pain and helplessness. 

* * *

Another week passed silently. Aziraphale stayed mostly in bed, cocoa forgone and books unattended. His powers dripped out of him subconsciously, saturating into the world like tea stains. Instead of the usual blessings, however, the weather got gradually worse and worse. There were more clouds than usual, staying for longer than what was explicable. Occasionally, it rained. 

Never in his six thousand some odd years of existence did Aziraphale ever feel so dreadful. For once, it was like he had no purpose. Even with his instincts of righteousness, Aziraphale knew he was no longer obligated to Heaven. He only acted towards what was best for Crowley. And even now, after all that was said and done, that seemed to be more impossible with each passing hour. Because what was best for Crowley? 

He wondered what Crowley was doing now. Was he wandering through London, finding any distractions at all to get by? Was he asleep in his bed in Mayfair, buried safely under the covers? Was he out forgetting Aziraphale with all the alcohol and willing participants he could find? Was he alone? Was he scared? Was he worried at all? Was he angry? 

Aziraphale's mind spiraled and spiraled until he fell into an absent sleep, shocked by dreams and nightmares melding with his anxieties and fears and desires. 

In the morning, Aziraphale awoke in a panic that quickly turned to confusion and a tiredness he couldn't explain. His dreams had begun pleasurably with Crowley at the Ritz, telling some funny story he couldn't quite remember. Then Gabriel had appeared behind a waiter, dragging Crowley kicking and screaming out the building. Aziraphale couldn't do more than watch, mouth sewn shut with feathers. 

He was driving himself insane. Aziraphale forced himself out of bed and carelessly fixed himself up with a miracle. He looked briefly out the window, barely surprised by the light snowfall. It was about four in the morning. No one was outside. Surely, the humans would question why snow was falling mid-spring. Aziraphale brushed the thought aside and grabbed a bottle of whatever he first saw and drank it straight from the bottle. He resisted the urge to call Crowley and invite him over to share. He resisted the urge to cry. He resisted the urge to appear right then and there in Crowley's and beg him to forgive all that he said. 

Aziraphale drank half the bottle in one go. After a sullen noise of self-disgust and frustration, he downed the rest of the bottle. 

By six 'clock, Aziraphale had ten empty bottles strewn across his floor. He slumped haphazardly against his couch and pulled all the alcohol from his system, making sure it hurt in the process with a brutal sting to his veins. That woke him up. He groaned, almost doubling over from the pain. What was he doing? He was an angel! This was not how an angel acts! Especially if he was the angel that stopped the end of the world. But Aziraphale didn't feel like he saved the world. In fact, sitting all too sober in the middle of his shop, he wished the world ended. 

Aziraphale looked out the window and saw that a blizzard had started up. Well, he didn't exactly want the world to end. It was beautiful in itself. There were beautiful people living out there. The world was splendid. No, he didn't want the world to end. He just wanted _his_ to end. 

So Aziraphale let his feet carry him out the shop and into the blizzard, keeping himself warm with a miracle. He wandered and wandered through the ice and snow, only barely seeing past the white winds. Eventually, he stopped by a bridge and admired its barren beauty. He stood there, alone, and slowly let the miracle over his body deplete. His mind raced and raced and it felt like hours when he finally remembered where he was by the bite of cold. He sighed heavily. 

* * *

At Present 

In the freezing darkness, Aziraphale felt just the faintest of warmth. With fleeting hope, he reached for it and grabbed onto it desperately, feeling it take root in his palms and reaching out through his veins to surge through the rest of his body. And soon, the warmth blanketed him from the inside out, burning like the loveliest of fires. 

He woke to a roaring hearth, crackling appreciatively. Aziraphale took a moment to take in the black walls and tiled floor. He knew where he was, wrapped carefully beneath a thick blanket and sinking into the plush mattress of a king sized bed. Somewhere next to him, a pair of arms held onto him tightly, as if even the slightest leeway would cause him to slip away. Aziraphale turned his head weakly and saw Crowley stir. His lovely golden eyes widened when he realized Aziraphale was awake. 

"Aziraphale! Oh, thank Sa- Go-" Crowley growled. "Fuck it! I thought I lost you! What were you thinking, diving into a lake in the middle of a blizzard?! Do you know how-" 

The angel threw himself into Crowley, letting all the weight in his chest out in choked sobs and wails and pitiful cries. Crowley held onto him, stroking his back soothingly. 

"I-I'm s-sorry, Crowley! I-I didn't mean t-to-" 

"Shhh." Crowley suddenly had a glass of water in his hand, and he carefully tipped it through Aziraphale's lips. "Calm down, angel. You're safe. I'm here." 

Aziraphale drank obediently, calming his breath carefully and wiping his tears over a handkerchief. "Oh, my dear, I'm so sorry! I never meant to hurt you or say any of those awful things. I-I was just so scared that he'd hurt you! I can't bear to live an eternity without you!" 

"So you were influenced!" Crowley's eyes turned completely gold, forked tongue flickering in anger. "I knew it! Who was it? Sandalphon? Uriel?" 

"Gabriel," Aziraphale whispered, as though he might hear. 

"That bastard!" Crowley snarled. "Don't worry, angel. I won't let him touch you!" 

He shook his head. "It's not me, Crowley. I'm not worried he'll hurt me. I'm scared he will s-smite you. Or, you know, anything worse than that. You know how relentless Heaven can get." 

Crowley's eyes softened when he looked down at Aziraphale, arms as tight around him as a snake coiling over prey. But Aziraphale wasn't his prey. Aziraphale was scared, and Crowley was not going to let that stand. 

"So, what, you decided to discorporate yourself?" There was no bite to his words. 

"Truthfully, yes." Aziraphale looked away, ashamed. "I just couldn't take it anymore, not seeing you ever again for all of eternity. Because, Crowley, I... I..." The words caught in his throat. He had to say it. He had to. If not now then there may never be another chance. But the words would not budge through. 

Crowley sighed, shoulders relaxing as he pressed a gentle kiss to Aziraphale's temple. "You stupid angel. I know. I've known for a while." 

Aziraphale blushed, heart pounding with thrill and embarrassment. "You... you do?" 

He chuckled. "'Course, angel. You're an awful liar." Crowley kissed his other temple. "And you know, angel, I love you too." 

The burn in Aziraphale tripled in intensity, but it felt even lovelier. For a moment, he thought he was dreaming. Or maybe he was still in the process of discorporating. But Crowley kissed his lips and that feeling was absolutely, unmistakably real. Aziraphale returned the kiss with fervor, pouring six thousand years of love into it. They drew back to gasp for air, though they didn't technically need to breathe. The rush into their lungs was exhilarating. 

"But, Crowley, how did you find me?" 

"You didn't think I would just accept a blizzard in the middle of spring, did you? Had the sssssmell of your essence all over it." Crowley couldn't resist letting his words twist into hisses. "Besides, I had an awful feeling that you were going to do something stupid." 

Aziraphale laughed at that. "You are wonderful, you know." 

Crowley's face reddened. "Ngk, mnnhh, 'course I know." 

He leaned in for another kiss, but there was a burn that welled up in his throat. It wasn't the lovely fire that was building in him. It was a scorch like lava overflowing from his mind. Aziraphale screamed, pressing his palms tightly into the back of his head to try fruitlessly to absolve the harsh pain. He barely registered the tears in his eyes and Crowley's worried shouts before it all dissipated into a dull throb. Then Crowley was ripped from his hold, crashing into the wall across the bed. 

"Crowley!" 

An unseen force threw Aziraphale back, making him grunt in pain as he was locked into the headboard like shackles in a prison. 

"We had an agreement, Aziraphale." The cold voice swept through the room like the blizzard outside. Gabriel appeared in a burst of light, eyes electrified with power. His wings stretched high and long, readied like a predator about to pounce. 

Dread began to fill Aziraphale again with cold fingers, extinguishing all the warmth he had felt before. Crowley was struggling to his feet. 

"I guess someone like you was bound to screw up something as simple as this anyways. No matter. I'll just make good of my word then." 

Crowley was forced to his knees, crying out in agony as his skin was seared with holy sigils like a branding iron had gone over it. 

"NO! NO, GABRIEL, STOP! PLEASE!" 

The archangel turned to face Aziraphale, expression calm. "Isn't this what we agreed on, Aziraphale? Leave him alone and I'll not touch him. Continue conspiring with him and I will personally see to him. And it seems, at the least, that he is not immune to all that is holy." 

Crowley keeled over, groaning painfully as the sigils slowly faded with a miracle. 

"Let's see what else I can do." 


	4. Chapter 4

Aziraphale struggled and struggled, working his mind into overdrive with all his might. He managed getting his wrists off the headboard for a whole two seconds before Gabriel's powers overwhelmed his. He gasped from exertion, powers drained. But he was desperate to get to Crowley. He had to protect him, had to keep him safe, had to be with him. 

Gabriel folded his wings, keeping them close, as he pulled Crowley up by his hair. Crowley cried out weakly, clawing at his arm to let him go. Gabriel wasn't fazed. He presented Crowley to Aziraphale, neck forcibly exposed as he continued to struggle fruitlessly. Aziraphale felt more tears from his eyes as he choked out another hoarse plea. Gabriel had a grin on his face, amused by his reaction. 

"Really, Aziraphale. I'm surprised you haven't Fallen yet, loving a demon like this." Gabriel threw him to the ground, hitting Crowley's head against the bed frame. 

"You're mistaken," Aziraphale growled, jerking his body forward as a last resort to break free. He made an inch off before slamming back. "My love for Crowley does not negate my love for Her. I won't question Her, never. But it's Heaven - it's _you_ that I will stand up against!" 

Gabriel laughed. It was a sharp sound, like steak knives grating messily into under cooked meat. "Demons can't love, Aziraphale. They're demons! They can only lust. I might be doing you a favor by smiting this thing." He glared down at Crowley and kicked him, feeling the slight snap of fractured bones. 

Crowley shouted in pain, gasping troubled breaths as he clenched his fists into nothing for purchase. 

"Gabriel!" Aziraphale kept struggling. "Gabriel, hurt me! Hurt me instead, you celestial bully! Take out your sadistic urges on my body instead! You... you bad angel!" 

"No," Crowley managed, barely a whisper. "No, no. A-an-gel." 

The archangel flexed his wrist, slamming Crowley into the ceiling and pinning him up there. He looked bored. 

Energy sputtered around Aziraphale pathetically, eyes glowing dimly through his tears. "Gabriel! Leave him alone! I'm the one you're after!" 

Gabriel pulled Aziraphale to him, grabbing onto his neck while binding his hands and feet. "You're right! You're the one I'm peeved at. But that's exactly why that demon's my target. Why would I give you what you want if you're the one I want to punish?" A blade was suddenly in his hand - man made, six inches - and let gravity take Crowley back down. 

Aziraphale shouted another plea in some ancient language to Gabriel when he realized what was going to happen. 

Gabriel ignored him, stepping onto Crowley's wrist and snapping it. Crowley yelled in pain and fury, whipping around with fire in his palm. He struck Gabriel across the arm before getting thrown aside again. Gabriel sneered, glaring as his suit sleeve burned open to reveal the blisters and burn mark in a vague shape of claws. His eyes glowed brighter. Gabriel stormed to Crowley's side and dug his perfectly manicured nails into his throat and slammed his head into the ground - just hard enough to put black spots in Crowley's vision. 

In that slight moment of weakness, Aziraphale lunged for Gabriel and shouldered him aside as hard as he could, falling over Crowley protectively. 

"You!" Gabriel snarled, standing to his full height and unfolding his wings. He disappeared and reappeared behind Aziraphale, thrusting the blade into his side. He screamed, falling over and grabbing onto the slick warmth that trickled down to stain his clothes. 

Crowley's form shifted painfully, limbs molding to his body as he grew longer and longer. His undulating form hissed threateningly, fangs bared, and struck at Gabriel. The archangel made a strained groan as Crowley clamped his jaws over one of Gabriel's wings. Liquid gold slipped over his feathers and burned Crowley's tongue. He hissed again and reeled back for another strike, but Gabriel forced him back with a hand, making a fist as if to constrict invisible lines of power. And Crowley's pained hisses became breathless shouts of agony, scales turning back to flesh. 

Aziraphale had watched as he yanked out the blade, barely able to heal his wound. He was trying his hardest to force breath after breath into his lungs, standing unsteadily. 

Gabriel stalked towards Crowley, celestial light seeming brighter with his growing wrath. He made a miracle of another longer knife, raising it over his head to strike Crowley right in his heart. Aziraphale bit back his pain and threw himself forward, hoping to at least make use of his body as a shield. 

There came a blaze of fire, suddenly, licking over the blade of his knife-elongated-into-a-sword. Aziraphale gasped in surprise when he realized he was wielding his Flaming Sword against Gabriel. Taking this moment of vulnerability, Aziraphale threw Gabriel back and held the fiery blade to his neck, breathing erratically. His hands didn't even tremor. 

"Now, Aziraphale," Gabriel said with a nervous swallow. "Think about this." 

"I have." His eyes were cold. "I am. You're not a very good angel, Gabriel. I've already told you to leave us be!" 

The archangel raised his hands in surrender, smiling weakly. "Yeah, I know. But the past is the past, right? We can start over, Aziraphale." 

"You'll leave us alone this time, won't you, Gabriel?" Aziraphale felt like he was going to black out at any moment. "I'm sure the Sword is enough of a bargaining chip." 

Gabriel chuckled. "Sure, yeah. Of course. Sorry for bothering you both." He disappeared with a popping sound. 

Aziraphale's bottom lip quivered then as he dropped to his knees. He crawled over to Crowley as fast as his wound allowed him, setting aside the Sword and running his hands over all the broken bones in Crowley's body. He miracled away all the internal bleeding and cracks and burns, reducing them to bruises and scabs. All the while, he murmured reassurances in a language not quite heard but not quite dismissed. When he was finished, Aziraphale fell over and let his consciousness waver then. Crowley forced himself up and released a breath Aziraphale didn't notice he was holding. The Flaming Sword, he realized, had shrunken back to a regular six inch knife. 

"A little... demonic miracle," Crowley mumbled, pulling Aziraphale gently onto him, laying his head to his chest. Crowley curled oddly and refused to let Aziraphale go. 

Aziraphale finally felt safe enough to rest, plunging into unconsciousness with the feeling of warmth back inside him from his beloved. If he were to discorporate now, he'd really feel awful for leaving this warmth. He was just so glad to have Crowley back. 

* * *

"Angel? You alright?" 

Aziraphale smiled at Crowley, taking a sip from his glass of gin. "Just wonderful, my dear. I was wondering what it would be like to see you wear white for once." 

Crowley almost choked on his gin. "What? Why the hell is that what you think of?" 

"Well, I think you'd look quite dashing. Even more so if I'm allowed to take it off." 

This time, Crowley did choke on his gin. "I swear, you're going to discorporate me, angel." He coughed. 

"I would never! I'm only being honest." 

He scoffed. "Took you a while to be honest about your feelings. Though, if it weren't for that twat of an archangel, I'd have had you sooner." 

Aziraphale smiled sadly. "I'm so very sorry about that, Crowley." 

"Sorry? What the fuck are you sorry for? You didn't do anything. And you've already apologized well over fifty time about the things you shouted at me. It's not your fault." 

"But I should've at least handled it better." Aziraphale downed his glass and sighed. 

"Listen, angel." Crowley finished his glass as well, knowing he'll need it for what comes out of his mouth next. "You waltzed into Hell for me. You stood up to Gabriel for me. Fuck, you even threw your body in front of me as a shield! Aziraphale, you have absolutely nothing to apologize for because you handled it the best you could, whether you realize it or not. And if it weren't for you, I might have been smited - smoted? smote? smitten? smitened? whatever! - by that sorry excuse of an angel! You're amazing, Aziraphale. Don't forget that." 

Aziraphale smiled fondly, relaxing into his seat and opening his arms invitingly. Crowley slithered in, burying his face into the angel's neck. Aziraphale stroked his hair and gave him an adoring kiss, whispering, "Thank you, Crowley." 

He hummed contentedly. "Anything for you, my angel." 


End file.
